Thanks, Management. (Formerly Talktalk}

The finest art

I've always been drawn to the fine arts. Poetry, music, dance, literature. I fancy myself an undeveloped, undiscovered artist, one who is probably past her prime. For me, there is uncomplicated and sheer joy in performing, particularly when the performance becomes so intuitive and so fluid that it is no longer merely going through the motions of a recitation or routine, but it is an act of creation all its own.

Except.

Except that each day, I practice my craft. I practice without ever being able to see the end result of my labor. I practice with no recital date on record, no evaluation of my progress, no feedback from a mentor about my strengths and weaknesses.

My canvas is my family. And I paint every day. With each utterance, with each disapproving look or glance of pride. With each kindness shown or love withheld. With each lie I tell or each mistake I own, I am teaching my two greatest pieces of fine, fine art how the world IS. They learn it through my eyes.

Parents, hear this. Everything you do is being scrutinized. I am damn well aware that every time I fuck up and don't own it, that teaches my babies that I believe I am beyond the laws of reproach. They learn that sneakiness is okay.

Every day, I practice my craft. And every day, I fail somehow and have to throw out the last day's painting and start anew. But each time I fail, I learn. Mix the colours a different way, don't add too much of this hue, blend and perfect. I apologize. I expect kindness of myself as well as from my children. I know about human error. I know about the ages and stages of growing up, and I try (I really do!) to remember that children are here to learn as well as here to teach.

Every day, I go to the canvas and paint. My canvas is my family, my children, my finest pieces of art. I've wanted to quit, to fucking die, though I know I can't. I've been given the oportunity and the talent. I have to paint it.

The finest art. My gift. Their gift to me. These things I ponder as I choose my palette for tomorrow's day of creation.

Internet break

So, it's been a week since I've had the internet upstairs. Bad storms last Tuesday fried our modem, and now SBC's on strike so it looks like I will be without 'net service for awhile longer.

This is actually a good thing. I haven't done much late night snacking. I've been to bed before midnight most nights since. I've read a book and a bit of another. I've folded mountains of laundry.

Still, it's nice to be downstairs (albeit in the basement of doom!) surfing a bit.

Hey Katye, blog, willya?

I guess I'm a patriot

I can't believe the violence and inhumanity I see on the news these days. I'm more appalled that our leaders are hiding it, denying it, and when caught, defending it.

I've been thinking about what patriotism means to me. I can tell you what it isn't. It isn't blindly going along with what our leaders say is okay. It isn't fighting and bombing just to get revenge. It IS being proud of what this country was founded upon: the constitution. Those are the ideals I hold in my heart when I think about patriotism. Patriotism isn't about following one leader down into hell. It is about fighting for human rights.

Read it, folks. We have so many rights that are just being brushed over (Patriot Act, anyone?) I still believe in our people and our spirit.

I hope it's not too late...

...but I need to!

Ya know, after 32 years I've learned a thing or two about me. Here's just one thing I've learned. I need, yes, need a whole lot of social time. Without kids.

Don't get me wrong, I adore my kids. They are cool and fun to hang with. I even enjoy cooking (shut up, I do enjoy it when I can get motivated to do it!) and even cleaning. Nothing like getting deep into a good dusting binge to make you feel like a conqueror. But when the kids are going to or in bed, I want to be out. Not every night, but often.

I have friends who love to read or knit. They get into it, get excited by it. They feel fulfilled having their me time in that way, or escape with TV or something. But many of the things I love to do best are being around groups of people, talking, listening to music or live poetry, etc. I just feel alive when I can do that. I no longer feel a strange sense of guilt over this. I just accept that this is what recharges me best.

So, this Thursday, I will be reading some of my poetry at an open mic night. I'm not even sure my stuff is good at all. I just want to be part of it all.

/discontinuity

Fuel rocked my face off

Just got back from the Fuel concert where I stood ALL THE WAY UP FRONT BABY! I love standing in the front. Nothing like that intense connection with the musicians. AHHHH! My ears are absolutely broken, I stood for almost four hours, and I loved it! Brett Scallions of Fuel has what my friend Andrea called "A lot of stage presence". He is extremely energetic, passionate, intense...yum! Carl Bell and the rest of the boys definitely rocked, too.

I enjoyed my night SO much. It was like being young and free again. Drumbeats thumping from the inside out, guitar licks like lightning bolts shocking my brain, lots of lustful aggression...and afterwards...WINGS!

'Twas a great night!

What I Know

I've been in a place lately. A place where I feel that I'm not on par with my circle of friends intellectually. No matter how much I reach and shine, the rest of them are heats ahead of me. Causes me more worry than really it should, because how important is intellectual superiority, anyway? It's really small and selfish of me to want what they have, what they effortlessly dismiss as unimportant. Still, I need to voice it so I can let it go. (Eventually).

There is much I don't know. But what I have learned is so, so valuable to me.

I have learned so much about myself and about what is good for my kids. I've learned a bit about how to read people, and how to tell the real folks from the bullshitters. I can hear people's hidden messages pretty damn well now. I've learned how to deflect unwanted advice, usually. I'm getting really good at explaining what I need in a healthy way. I have learned that art and music and good friends and good food and snuggly babies=happiness.

The most important piece of knowledge I have is this. Nobody's opinion matters. Really. Input from friends and family is golden. But when it comes down to the things that matter, your decision to wean or not, your longing and desire to live in a loft in the city and be an artist, or live on a goat farm, your decision to send your kids to public, private, or homeschool, you owning thirty green tops, hair under your pits or shaved head, hip hop or classical...DOESN'T MATTER. It's YOU. And I've learned that it is far more painful to fake who you are or try to justify that than just LIVE and BE.

And I'm still learning.

'Nother quiz

Which 1990's Subculture Do You Belong To?

[Another Quiz by Kris
@ couplandesque.net]

Let the quizzing begin

stolen from a chick i know from livejournal. not sure if she wants me to give her addy out...try this nasty lil' quiz!

Inside, it hurts more and more. Like it's filling
to the brim. Get some release soon, or, it
could get ugly.


Your Secret Inner Demon
brought to you by Quizilla

OUtfits worn by me in the 80's

1. Black stirrup cat suit topped with my mom's silk pajama top (men's style, red and white). Red heels. Make up reminiscent of a geisha. Thought I was a fashion trend setter with that one.

2. Black leather mini skirt. Tiny white tank top with black bra straps sticking out. Black fishnet hose. Major black eye makeup and red, red lipgloss. Looked exactly like hooker. Can't believe father let me out the door.

3. Acid washed jeans, split up the side and laced with leather shoe strings. Two bright tank tops layered. Hair high as an elephant's eye.

4. Tight, tight black jeans, long white collared shirt a size or two too large, three big belts, making a big bloused effect.

5. My mom's (5'8") huge, long color blocked sweater made into a dress for me (I'm 5'2"). Tried to match eyeshadow to colors on sweater. Every color. Hair ridiculously teased. Hose and heels. Thought I was the hottest thing ever.

Give me some of yours. I have some more doozies.